UC-NRLF 

SB    L.5Q    A7T 

LYRICS  FROM  THE   CHINESE 


LYRICS 

FROM   THE   CHINESE 


BY 
HELEN  WADDELL 


FOURTH  IMPRESSION 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

1919 


Published  December  1913. 

Reprinted  March  1914,  January  1917. 

May  19 1 9. 


TO  MY  FATHER 


574299 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  by  candlelight  one  enters  Babylon;  and  all 
roads  lead  to  Babylon,  provided  it  is  by  candlelight 
one  journeys.  It  was  by  candlelight  that  John 
Milton  read  Didorus  Siculus,  and  by  the  Third 
Book  he  had  voyaged  beyond  the  Cape  of  Hope 
and  now  was  past  Mozambic,  and  already  felt 
freshly  blowing  on  his  face 

f  Sabean  odours  from  the  spicie  shore 
Of  Arabie  the  blest.' 

It  was  by  candlelight  that  the  sea  coast  of 
Bohemia  was  discovered,  and  the  finding  of  it  made 
a  winter's  tale.  Baghdad  is  not  a  city  to  be  seen 
by  day ;  candlelight  is  the  only  illumination  for  all 
Arabian  nights. 

One  sees  most  by  candlelight,  because  one  sees 
little.  There  is  a  magic  ring,  and  in  it  all  things 
shine  with  a  yellow  shining,  and  round  it  wavers  the 
eager  dark.  This  is  the  magic  of  the  lyrics  of  the 
twelfth  century  in  France,  lit  candles  in  'a  case- 
vii 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

ment  ope  at  night,'  starring  the  dusk  in  Babylon ; 
candles  flare  and  gutter  in  the  meaner  streets, 
Villon's  lyrics,  these ;  candles  flame  in  its  cathedral- 
darkness,  Latin  hymns  of  the  Middle  Ages,  of 
Thomas  of  Celano  and  Bernard  of  Morlaix.  For 
if  Babylon  has  its  Quartier  Latin,  it  has  also  its 
Notre  Dame.  The  Middle  Ages  are  the  Babylon 
of  the  religious  heart. 

Every  literature  has  its  Babylon.  Or  rather,  like 
that  other  Babylon,  not  of  the  spirit,  Babylon  is 
one,  and  all  nations  have  drunk  of  her  wine.  She, 
too,  is  the  haven  desired  of  *  everyone  that  saileth 
any  whither'  by  reason  of  her  costliness,  her 
merchandise  of  gold  and  precious  stones  and  pearls, 
of  fine  linen  and  purple  and  silk  and  scarlet,  thyine 
wood  and  ivory,  cinnamon  and  incense,  wine  and 
souls  of  men ;  and  this  Babylon  too  will  have  fallen 
when  the  sound  of  the  flute  is  no  more  heard  in  her, 
and  '  the  light  of  a  candle  shall  shine  no  more  at 
all.'  All  languages  are  spoken  in  Babylon,  yet  with 
the  same  accent ;  here  are  gateways  of  the  Moors 
in  Spain,  Venetian  waterways,  streets  of  Old  Paris, 
and  over  all  the  undiscerning  twilight.  All  men 
meet  in  Babylon  who  go  on  pilgrimages,  for  all 
roads  end  in  Babylon,  the  Road  of  the  San  Grael, 
the  Road  of  the  Secret  Rose, 
viii 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

It  is  long  since  the  East  made  good  its  claim  to 
Babylon  in  one  thousand  and  one  nights,  and  now 
among  all  the  taverns  there  is  none  more  crowded 
than  the  Inn  of  the  Rubaiyat ;  yet  on  the  farther 
side  the  city  stretches  dim  and  all  but  unexplored. 
There  are  even  the  fragments  of  an  old  wall  in  the 
heart  of  it,  the  ruins  of  an  *  East  Gate/  and  beside 
it  the  shimmering  darkness  of  a  clump  of  willows. 
The  scholars — for  even  scholars  sometimes  come  to 
Babylon — have  identified  it  as  Yuen-K/ew,  some- 
time chief  city  of  the  province  of  Ch'in,  but  this 
was  by  daylight;  the  theory  is  only  tenable  if 
Yuen-K'ew  is  the  Chinese  for  Babylon. 

For  the  Babylon  beyond  the  broken  wall  is  Old 
Babylon ;  its  temple-lights  are  Songs  of  Sacrifice 
that  were  old  when  Buddha  died.  There  are  waste 
places  with  dark  pools  and  the  ghostly  gleam  of 
lotus ;  black  reaches  of  a  palace  moat ;  and  once 
a  Chinese  lantern  flashes  on  a  wall  leprous  with 
lichen  and  hideouslv  stained.  The  streets  are 
narrow,  but  they  climb  up  and  up,  past  darkened 
houses  and  '  mounds  of  red  earth  from  whose  sides 
strange  trees  grow  out,'*  and  suddenly  break  into 
broad  daylight,  and  wide  grassy  spaces,  with  the 
swift  flight  of  swallows  overhead.  Looking  down, 
Babylon  lies  in  a  luminous  mist  shot  through  with 

ix 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

points  of  fire;  but  on  the  other  side  there  is  a 
great  stretch  of  quiet  water,  and  in  its  depths  one 
sees  the  city  of  all  legends,  the  oldest  Babylon 
of  all.  There  was  morning  glory  on  the  trellis  of 
the  palace  garden  of  Wei,  and  through  fathoms  of 
clear  water  one  sees  it  yet.  The  very  sunlight  is 
molten ;  and  the  echoes  of  a  drinking-song  come 
faint  but  very  joyous.  The  sound  has  travelled  far. 
That  water  is  thirty  centuries  deep. 

It  is  through  two  stout  volumes  of  *  The  Chinese 
Classics '  that  this  road  to  Babylon  runs  ;  a  pleasant 
edition,  printed  at  Hong  Kong,  and  sold  there  '  At 
the  Author's.'  That  author  was  Dr.  Legge,  some- 
time missionary  in  China,  late  Professor  of  Chinese 

at  Oxford.     He  was  not  the  first  to  find  the  road. 

j 

it  was  a  Jesuit  Father  of  the  eighteenth  century 
one  Pere  Lacharme,  who  first  passed  under  the 
'East  Gate'  into  the  city  of  the  Shih-King,  but 
he  wrote  of  it  in  Latin,  and  the  book  was  not 
popular.  This  is  the  easier  road;  every  lyric  has 
its  Chinese  text,  black  and  unfamiliar  and  satisfy- 
ing; beneath  it  a  prose  translation  of  unflinching 
accuracy,  and  footnotes  that  unravel  all  things, 
from  the  habits  of  a  sinister  plant  called  tribulus 
■ — Shakespeare  would  have  had  it  in  his  witches' 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

cauldron — to  the  wickedness  of  the  Duke  Seuen  in 
his  palace  of  Wei.  It  is  the  footnotes  that  create 
so  gracious  a  sense  of  security,  an  atmosphere  in 
which  even  the  Duke  Seuen  loses  half  his  terrors : 
the  kindly  precision  of  a  scholar  without  guile. 

And  a  generous  scholar ;  for  at  the  end  of * the 
great  travail  so  gladly  spent,'  he  leaves  it  to  the 
pleasure  of  'anyone  who  is  willing  to  undertake 
the  labour  ...  to  present  the  pieces  in  a  faithful 
metrical  version.'*  These  stones  are  from  his 
quarry ;  it  was  under  the  great  Sinologue's  Act  of 
Indulgence  that  these  lyrics  were  chosen.  And 
though  their  fidelity  might  be  matter  of  dispute 
(in  seven  lines  only  has  the  original  rendering  been 
strictly  kept,  the  opening  line  of  Odes  I.,  xi.  and 
xxxiii.,  the  second  and  third  of  Ode  n.,  and  the 
last  of  Odes  xxvm.  and  xxxvi.),  the  defence  was 
made  long  ago  in  the  preface  to  a  seventeenth- 
century  translation  from  the  French,  in  five  volumes 
folio.  *  The  translator  hath  but  turned  the  wrong 
side  of  the  Arras  towards  us,  for  all  translations, 
you  know,  are  no  other,'  and  it  was  only  to  com- 
pensate for  the  original  colouring  that  a  later  hand 
'  hath  inserted  .  .  .  false  stitches  of  his  own.' 


xi 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 


i.  the  gourd  has  still  its  bitter  leaves. 

b.c.  718 1 

ii.  ah,  let  it  drift,  that  boat  of  cypress 

WOOD.       B.C.  826    .....  2 

III.  THE  DEW  IS  HEAVY  ON  THE  GRASS.      B.C.  1121  3 

IV.  WITHIN  THE  MASSIVE  CUP  OF  JADE.      B.C.  1121  4 
V.    THE      MORNING      GLORY      CLIMBS     ABOVE     MY 

HEAD.       B.C.     1121               .             .             .             .  5 

VI.    WE  LOAD  THE  SACRIFICIAL  STANDS.    B.C.  1114  6 

VII.    I  WENT  OUT  AT  THE  EASTERN  GATE.      B.C.  680  7 

VIII.    HOW  SAY  THEY  THAT  THE  HO  IS  WIDE.    B.C.  650  8 

IX.    I  SEE  YOU  WITH  YOUR  BAMBOO  RODS.     B.C.  718  9 

X.    THE  WIND  BLOWS  FROM  THE  NORTH.    B.C.  718  11 

XI.    YELLOW  's  THE  ROBE  FOR  HONOUR.      B.C.  769  12 

XII.   THE  TRIBULUS  GROWS  ON  THE  WALL.     B.C.  700  13 

XIII.  THE  SWALLOWS  TAKE  THEIR  FLIGHT.     B.C.  718  14 

XIV.  THE  WILLOWS  BY  THE  EASTERN  GATE.  B.C.  826  1  5 
XV.    I  CANNOT  COME  TO  YOU.    I  AM  AFRAID.    B.C.  718  16 

XVI.    THE     RUSHES     ON     THE     MARSH     ARE     GREEN. 

B.C.    605 17 

XVII.    I    SAW    THE    MARSH  WITH   RUSHES    DANK    AND 

GREEN.       B.C.  605 18 

XVIII.    I  AM  GOING  TO  GATHER  THE  WHEAT.    B.C.  718  lp 

xiii 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 

PAGE 

XIX.    THE  k'e  STILL  RIPPLES  TO  ITS  BANKS.    B.C.  71  8  21 
XX.    MY    LORD    IS     GONE    AWAY    TO     SERVE     THE 

KING.       B.C.  769    .....  23 
XXI.    I    WOULD    HAVE    GONE    TO    MY    LORD    IN    HIS 

NEED.       B.C.  675 24 

XXII.    THE  WISE  MAN'S  WISDOM  IS  OUR  STRENGTH. 

B.C.   780 26 

XXIII.  WHEN    FIRST    THE    GUESTS    APPROACH     THE 

MATS.       B.C.   780 27 

XXIV.  NO  MAN  IS  IN  THE  FIELDS.       B.C.   780  .             .  28 
XXV.    I  SEE  ON   HIGH  THE  MILKY  WAY.       B.C.   780  29 

XXVI.    IF     THERE     ARE     FISH     WITHIN     THE     TRAP. 

B.C.  780 30 

xxvii.  under  the  pondweed  do  the  great  fish 

go.     b.c.  780 31 

xxviii.  before  the  snow  comes  sleet.     b.c.   780  32 

xxix.  peach  blossom  after  rain       .         .         .  33 

xxx.  the  world  is  weary,  hasting  on  its  road  34 

xxxi.    you've    TWO    SCORE,   THREE    SCORE   YEARS 

BEFORE    YOU    YET                            ...  35 

XXXII.    BLUE  IRIS  SWEETEST  SMELLS  36 

XXXIII.    ON  THE  MOOR  IS  THE  CREEPING  GRASS.    B.C.  680  37 

XXXIV.    THE  MOON  IS  SHINING  ON  THIS  BORDERLAND  38 

XXXV.    HOW  GOES  THE  NIGHT  ?       B.C.  826        .             .  39 

XXXVI.    WHITE  CLOUDS  ARE   IN  THE  SKY.      B.C.    1121  40 

Note. — The   dates  are    those   suggested   as  approximate   by 
Dr.  Legge. 

xiv 


Written  in  b.c.  718. 

It  is  the  Chinese  rendering  of  'the  world  well  lost. 
Possibly,  as  one  Yen  Ts'an  of  the  thirteenth  century  insists, 
'intended  to  show  the  error  of  licentious  connections.' 

The  gourd  has  still  its  bitter  leaves, 
And  deep  the  crossing  at  the  ford. 
I  wait  my  lord. 

The  ford  is  brimming  to  its  banks ; 

The  pheasant  cries  upon  her  mate. 

My  lord  is  late. 

The  boatman  still  keeps  beckoning, 
And  others  reach  their  journey's  end. 
I  wait  my  friend. 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


II 


Written  b.c.  826. 

It  is  inconsistent  with  the  finest  ideal  of  chastity  that  a 
Chinese  woman  should  break  her  perpetual  widowhood. 

Ah,  let  it  drift,  that  boat  of  cypress  wood, 
There  in  the  middle  of  the  Ho. 
He  was  my  mate, 

And  until  death  I  will  go  desolate. 

Ah  Mother !     God  ! 

How  is  it  that  ye  will  not  understand  ? 

Ah,  let  it  drift,  that  boat  of  cypress  wood, 
There  in  the  middle  of  the  Ho. 
He  was  my  King. 

I  swear  I  will  not  do  this  evil  thing. 

Ah  Mother  !     God  ! 

How  is  it  that  ye  will  not  understand  ? 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


III 


Written  in  the  twelfth  century  before  Christ. 
It  is  possibly  the  oldest  drinking-song  in  the  world. 

The  dew  is  heavy  on  the  grass, 

At  last  the  sun  is  set. 
Fill  up,  fill  up  the  cups  of  jade, 

The  night '«  before  us  yet ! 

All  night  the  dew  will  heavy  lie 

Upon  the  grass  and  clover. 
Too  soon,  too  soon,  the  dew  will  dry, 

Too  soon  the  night  be  over ! 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


IV 

Written  b.c.  1121. 
He  protests  his  loyalty. 

Within  the  massive  cup  of  jade 
The  yellow  liquid  shines ; 

Our  prince  is  sure  a  man  of  men, 
And  splendid  are  his  wines. 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


v 

Written  in  the  twelfth  century  before  Christ,  c.  1121. 

The  morning  glory  climbs  above  my  head, 
Pale  flowers  of  white  and  purple,  blue  and  red. 
I  am  disquieted. 

Down  in  the  withered  grasses  something  stirred ; 
I  thought  it  was  his  footfall  that  I  heard. 
Then  a  grasshopper  chirred. 

I  climbed  the  hill  just  as  the  new  moon  showed, 
I  saw  him  coming  on  the  southern  road. 
My  heart  lays  down  its  load. 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


VI 

Written  c.  1114  B.a 

We  load  the  sacrificial  stands 
Of  wood  and  earthen  ware, 

The  smell  of  burning  southernwood 
Is  heavy  in  the  air. 

It  was  our  fathers'  sacrifice, 
It  may  be  they  were  eased. 

We  know  no  harm  to  come  of  it ; 
It  may  be  God  is  pleased. 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


VII 

Written  b.c.  680. 
The  '  Little  Preface'  :  '  A  man's  praise  of  his  Poor  Wife. 

I  went  out  at  the  Eastern  Gate, 

I  saw  the  girls  in  clouds, 
Like  clouds  they  were,  and  soft  and  bright, 

But  in  the  crowds 
I  thought  on  the  maid  who  is  my  light, 
Down-drooping,  soft  as  the  grey  twilight; 

She  is  my  mate. 

I  went  out  by  the  Tower  on  the  Wall, 

I  saw  the  girls  in  flower, 
Like  flowering  rushes  they  swayed  and  bent, 

But  in  that  hour 
I  thought  on  the  maid  who  is  my  saint, 
In  her  thin  white  robe  and  her  colouring  faint ; 

She  is  my  all. 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


VIII 
Written  b.c.  650. 

f  Other  things,'  says  the  '  Little  Preface '  solemnly, '  more 
difficult  to  overcome  than  Distance,  may  keep  one  from  a 
Place.' 

It  is  the  yearning  of  a  young  wife  for  the  home  to  which 
it  was  an  indecorum  that  she  should  return. 

How  say  they  that  the  Ho  is  wide, 
When  I  could  ford  it  if  I  tried  ? 
How  say  they  Sung  is  far  away, 
When  I  can  see  it  every  day  ? 

Yet  must  indeed  the  Ho  be  deep, 
When  I  have  never  dared  the  leap ; 
And  since  I  am  content  to  stay, 
Sung  must  indeed  be  far  away. 


8 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


IX 

Written  in  the  eighth  century  before  Christ. 

I  see  you  with  your  bamboo  rods 

Go  fishing  up  the  K'e. 
Fain  would  I  rise  and  come  to  you, 
And  all  day  long  I  think  of  you, 

But  I  am  far  away. 


The  waters  of  the  K'e  lie  east, 

And  west  the  Ts'en-yuen. 
But  now  am  I  a  married  wife, 
And  maid  that  is  a  wedded  wife, 
She  comes  not  home  again. 


The  waters  of  the  K'e  lie  east, 

The  Ts'en-yuen  are  west. 
My  white  teeth  flash,  I  smile  on  him, 
These  girdle-gems  were  given  by  him, 

His  wife  is  richly  drest. 
9 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


There  in.  the  river  leaped  a  fish. 

The  oars  dip  in  the  K'e. 
O  that  I  might  come  back  again, 
And  then  I  might  forget  again, 

Forget  for  but  a  day ! 


IV 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


Written  718  b.c.  from  the  harem  of  the  Palace  of  Wei. 

The  wind  blows  from  the  North. 

He  looks  and  his  eyes  are  cold. 
He  looks  and  smiles  and  then  goes  forth, 

My  grief  grows  old. 

The  wind  blows  and  the  dust. 

To-morrow  he  swears  he  will  come. 
His  words  are  kind,  but  he  breaks  his  trust, 

My  heart  is  numb. 

All  day  the  wind  blew  strong, 

The  sun  was  buried  deep. 
I  have  thought  of  him  so  long,  so  long, 

I  cannot  sleep. 

The  clouds  are  black  with  night, 

The  thunder  brings  no  rain. 
I  wake  and  there  is  no  light, 

I  bear  my  pain. 


11 


LYlilCS  FliOxVi  THUi  CHINESE 


XI 

Written  B.C.  769  from  the  harem  of  the  Palace  of  Wei. 

'There  are  seven  reasons,'  said  Confucius,  'for  which  a 
man  may  divorce  his  wife.  .  .  .  The  seven  reasons  are : — 
Disobedience  to  her  husband's  parents ;  not  giving  birth 
to  a  son;  dissolute  conduct;  jealousy  of  her  husband's 
attentions  to  the  other  members  of  his  harem ;  talkative- 
ness ;  and  thieving.  All  these  regulations  were  adopted  by 
the  Sages  in  harmony  with  the  natures  of  men  and  women.' 

Yellow  's  the  robe  for  honour, 

And  green  is  for  disgrace. 
I  wear  the  green  and  not  the  gold, 

And  turn  away  my  face. 

I  wear  the  green  of  scorning, 
Who  wore  the  gold  so  long. 

I  think  upon  the  Sages, 

Lest  I  should  do  them  wrong. 

It  is  for  her  he  shames  me. 

I  sit  and  think  apart. 
I  wonder  if  the  Sages  knew 

A  woman's  heart. 

12 


LYUICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XII 

Written  700  b.c.  against  the  Duke  Seuen. 

The  Little  Preface:    fThe  Things  done  in  the  Inner 
Room  of  the  Palace  of  Wei  were  Shameful  Things.' 

The  tribulus  grows  on  the  wall, 

Upon  the  stain. 
The  things  done  in  that  inner  room 

Men  cannot  name. 

The  tribulus  grows  on  the  wall. 

The  stain  is  old. 
The  evil  of  that  inner  room 

May  not  be  told. 


13 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XIII 

The  inner  history  of  the  Palace  of  Wei  is  something  of  a 
'chronique  scandaleuse/  and  the  Duke  Seuen  is  the  heir 
of  an  evil  tradition.  This  tragedy  is  before  his  day.  Most 
of  the  commentators  refer  it  to  the  dismissal  in  disgrace  of 
one  Tae-Kwei,  a  hapless  and  gentle  lady  of  the  harem  of 
Duke  Chwang,  a  dismissal  preluded  by  the  murder  of  her 
only  son.  It  happened  in  718  b.c.  ;  it  is  a  grief  that  is 
twenty-seven  centuries  old. 

The  swallows  take  their  flight 

Across  the  ford. 
My  lady  goes  from  sight ; 
And  I  must  bring  her  on  her  way, 
Yet  leave  her  ere  the  close  of  day, 

So  wills  her  lord. 

The  swallows  take  their  flight, 

Again  they  come. 
My  lady  goes  from  sight ; 
And  far  must  I  escort  her  to  the  South, 
From  whence  no  spring-time  wind  nor  summer 
drouth 

Shall  bring  her  home. 

14 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XIV 

Written  b.c.  826. 
He  complains  of  a  broken  assignation. 

The  willows  by  the  Eastern  Gate 
Are  deep  in  sheltering  leaves. 

You  said  '  Before  the  night  grows  late,' 
— There 's  twittering  in  the  eaves. 

The  willows  by  the  Eastern  Gate 

All  night  in  shadow  are. 
You  said  '  Before  the  night  grows  late,' 

— There  shines  the  morning  star. 


15 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XV 

Written  b.c.  718. 

I  cannot  come  to  you.     I  am  afraid. 
I  will  not  come  to  you.     There,  I  have  said. 
Though  all  the  night  I  lie  awake  and  know 
That  you  are  lying,  waking,  even  so. 
Though  day  by  day  you  take  the  lonely  road, 
And  come  at  nightfall  to  a  dark  abode. 

Yet  if  so  be  you  are  indeed  my  friend, 

Then  in  the  end, 

There  is  one  road,  a  road  I  Ve  never  gone, 

And  down  that  road  you  shall  not  pass  alone. 

And  there 's  one  night  you  11  find  me  by  your  side. 

The  night  that  they  shall  tell  me  you  have  died. 


16 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XVI 

Written  c.  605  b.c. 


The  rushes  on  the  marsh  are  green,  riA^ s^a^^ 

And  in  the  wind  they  bend.  '  ^^^  V 

I  saw  a  woman  walking  there,  '  ^ 
Near  daylight's  end. 

On  the  black  water  of  the  marsh,  ,^c/   ^ 

The  lotus  buds  swim  white.  ^^^aY7> 

I  saw  her  standing  by  the  verge 
At  fall  of  night. 

All  the  long  night  I  lie  awake,  '     »a1a/{ 

And  sleep  I  cannot  find.  <^> 

I  see  her  slim  as  any  rush 
Sway  in  the  wind. 

I  shut  my  eyes  and  see  again  fi^L- 

The  whiteness  of  her  throat,  -rlA^t 

On  the  black  water  of  the  night  <\rf\\  0 
Like  lotus  float. 


17 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XVII 

A  variant  of  the  same. 

I  saw  the  marsh  with  rushes  dank  and  green, 
And  deep  black  pools  beneath  a  sunset  sky, 
And  lotus  silver  bright 
Gleam  on  their  blackness  in  the  dying  light, 
As  I  passed  by. 

And  all  that  night  I  saw  as  in  a  dream 
Her  fair  face  lifted  up 
Shine  in  the  darkness  like  a  lotus  cup, 
Snow-white  against  the  deep  black  pool  of  night, 
Till  dawn  was  nigh. 


18 


LVU1CS  FltOM  THE  CHINESE 


XVIII 

The  joyous  rollick  of  the  metre  would  seem  to  suggest  a 
rustic  Don  Juan,  but  even  in  the  eighth  century  b.c.  the 
poets  had  learned  the  uses  of  the  pastoral,  and  Dr.  Legge 
assures  us  that  hereby  three  notorious  court  intrigues  are 
obscurely  glanced  at.  In  brief,  to  quote  the  ' Little 
Preface,'  '  A  Gentleman  sings  of  his  Intimacy  with  Various 
Noble  Ladies/  There  is  evidently  an  unsuspected  strain 
of  the  '  gaillard '  in  an  imperturbable  nation. 


I  am  going  to  gather  the  wheat 

In  the  fields  of  Mei. 
But  my  thoughts  are  not  on  the  whitening  wheat. 
Fairest  and  fair  of  the  maids  of  the  Keang, 
She  whom  I  met  at  the  fair  of  Sang-chung, 
She  is  to  meet  me  in  far  Shang-kung, 
And  then  for  the  road  with  me  through  Ke-shang, 

And  into  the  fields  of  Mei. 


I  am  going  to  gather  the  millet 

In  the  north  of  Mei. 
But  my  thoughts  are  not  on  the  new-mown  millet. 
Fairest  and  fair  of  the  maids  of  the  Yung, 
c  19 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


She  whom  I  met  at  the  fair  of  Sang-chung, 
She  is  to  meet  me  in  far  Shang-kung, 
And  then  for  the  road  with  me  through  Ke-shang, 
And  into  the  north  of  Mei. 

I  am  going  to  gather  the  rye, 

In  the  east  of  Mei. 
But  my  thoughts  are  not  on  the  ripening  rye. 
Fairest  and  fair  of  the  maids  of  the  Wang, 
She  whom  I  met  at  the  fair  of  Sang-chung, 
She  is  to  meet  me  in  far  Shang-kung, 
And  then  for  the  road  with  me  through  Ke-shang, 

And  into  the  east  of  Mei. 


20 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XIX 

Written  b.c.  718. 

The  K  'e  still  ripples  to  its  banks, 

The  moorfowl  cry. 
My  hair  was  gathered  in  a  knot, 

And  you  came  by. 

Selling  of  silk  you  were,  a  lad 

Not  of  our  kin ; 
You  passed  at  sunset  on  the  road 

From  far-off  Ts'in. 


The  frogs  were  croaking  in  the  dusk ; 

The  grass  was  wet. 
We  talked  together,  and  I  laughed ; 

I  hear  it  yet. 

I  thought  that  I  would  be  your  wife ; 

I  had  your  word. 
And  so  I  took  the  road  with  you, 

And  crossed  the  ford. 
21 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


I  do  not  know  when  first  it  was 
Your  eyes  looked  cold. 

But  all  this  was  three  years  ago, 
And  I  am  old. 


22 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XX 

Written  769  b.o. 

My  lord  is  gone  away  to  serve  the  King. 
The  pigeons  homing  at  the  set  of  sun 
Are  side  by  side  upon  the  courtyard  wall, 
And  far  away  I  hear  the  herdsmen  call 
The  goats  upon  the  hill  when  day  is  done. 
But  I,  I  know  not  when  he  will  come  home. 
I  live  the  days  alone. 

My  lord  is  gone  away  to  serve  the  King. 
I  hear  a  pigeon  stirring  in  the  nest, 
And  in  the  field  a  pheasant  crying  late. 
— She  has  not  far  to  go  to  find  her  mate. 
There  is  a  hunger  will  not  let  me  rest. 
The  days  have   grown  to  months  and  months  to 
years, 

And  I  have  no  more  tears. 


23 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXI 

Written  675  b.o. 

'Is  there  anything  whereof  it  may  be  said,  l  See,  this 
is  new?  it  hath  been  already  of  old  time,  which  was 
before  us.' 

I  would  have  gone  to  my  lord  in  his  need. 
Have  galloped  there  all  the  way, 

But  this  is  a  matter  concerns  the  State, 
And  I,  being  a  woman,  must  stay. 

I  watched  them  leaving  the  palace  yard, 

In  carriage  and  robe  of  state. 
I  would  have  gone  by  the  hills  and  the  fords ; 

I  know  they  will  come  too  late. 

I  may  walk  in  the  garden  and  gather 

Lilies  of  mother-of-pearl. 
I  had  a  plan  would  have  saved  the  State. 

— But  mine  are  the  thoughts  of  a  girl. 
24 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


The  Elder  Statesmen  sit  on  the  mats, 
And  wrangle  through  half  the  day ; 

A  hundred  plans  they  have  drafted  and  dropped, 
And  mine  was  the  only  way. 


25 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXII 

Written  780  B.C. 

'Only  a  Chinese/  says  Dr.  Legge  pleasantly,  'will  agree 
that  it  is  a  bad  thing-  for  a  woman  to  be  wise.' 

'  Admirable  may  be  the  wise  woman,'  so  runs  an  unversed 
couplet  of  the  original,  'But  she  is  an  owl.' 

The  wise  man's  wisdom  is  our  strength, 
The  woman's  wisdom  is  our  bane. 

The  men  build  up  the  city  walls 
For  women  to  tear  down  again. 

No  man  from  any  woman's  wit 

Hath  yet  learned  aught  of  any  worth, 

For  wise  is  she,  but  unto  ill, 
To  bring  disorder  on  the  earth. 

What  does  she  in  affairs  of  State  ? 

Her  place  is  in  the  inner  room. 
Her  wisdom  doth  least  hurt  in  this, 

To  mind  the  silkworm  and  the  loom. 


26 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXIII 
Written  780  B.C. 

When  first  the  guests  approach  the  mats 

Their  manners  are  correct ; 
And  even  when  they  well  have  drunk, 

They  still  are  circumspect. 

But  when  the  guests  have  drunk  too  much, 

They  lose  sobriety ; 
They  shout  and  brawl  and  loudly  sing, 

— An  impropriety. 

If  when  a  guest  has  drunk  too  much 

He  courteously  depart, 
His  host  and  he  would  happy  be, 

Each  having  done  his  part. 

But  to  remain  when  one  is  drunk 

Is  not  a  virtuous  thing. 
To  drinking,  though  a  custom  good, 

One  must  deportment  bring. 


27 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXIV 
Written  in  780  b.o. 

The  lyrics  of  this  decade  are  of  a  darker  temper.  It  is 
the  spirit  of  the  Jacquerie,  the  far-off  anticipation  of 
<£aira.' 

No  man  is  in  the  fields, 

The  forest  *s  stripped  and  bare, 

A  few  poor  faggots  left, 
And  there  is  none  to  care. 

These  men  are  in  great  place, 
And  still  they  grind  the  State. 

The  people  cry  to  heaven, 
And  think  that  God  is  great. 
— Is  He  too  great  to  hate  ? 


28 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXV 

780  B.o. 
Jacques  Bonhomme  complains  of  the  useless  stars. 

I  see  on  high  the  Milky  Way, 
But  here 's  a  rougher  road. 

The  Sacred  Oxen  shining  stand  ; 
They  do  not  draw  our  load. 

The  Sieve  is  sparkling  in  the  South, 
But  good  and  ill  come  through. 

The  Ladle  opens  wide  its  mouth, 
And  pours  out  naught  for  you. 

At  dawn  the  Weaving  Sisters  sleep, 

At  dusk  they  rise  again  ; 
But  though  their  Shining  Shuttle  flies, 

They  weave  no  robe  for  men. 


29 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXVI 

780  b.o. 

He  complains  of  the  unfairness  of  things. 

If  there  are  fish  within  the  trap, 
They'll  churn  it  as  they  leap. 

If  none,  you  11  see  the  water  black, 
And  stars  in  it  asleep. 

— The  water  in  the  trap  is  black, 
The  stars  are  shining  still — 

If  some  men  get  enough  to  eat, 
There 's  few  can  get  their  fill. 


30 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXVII 

780  b.c.  in  the  King's  Court 

Under  the  pondweed  do  the  great  fish  go, 
In  the  green  darkness  where  the  rushes  grow. 
The  King  is  in  Hao. 

Under  the  pondweed  do  the  great  fish  lie ; 
Down  in  Hao  the  sunny  hours  go  by. 
The  King  holds  revelry. 

Under  the  pondweed  do  the  great  fish  sleep  ; 
The  dragon-flies  are  drowsy  in  the  heat. 
The  King  is  drinking  deep. 


51 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXVIII 

780  b.c.  f  The  writing  on  the  wall.' 

Before  the  snow  comes  sleet, 
And  wind  from  out  the  East. 
One  moment  may  let  slip 
Our  goodly  fellowship. 
Death  clutches  at  our  feet. 
Who  knows  when  next  we  meet  ? 
Yet  still  the  wine  is  sweet. 
O  King,  enjoy  the  feast ! 


32 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXIX 

On  early  morning. 

Written  under  the  Tang  dynasty;  this,  with  the  four 
following  lyrics,  is  of  a  later  date  than  the  odes  of  the 
'Shih-King.' 

Peach  blossom  after  rain 

Is  deeper  red ; 
The  willow  fresher  green  ; 
Twittering  overhead ; 
And  fallen  petals  lie  wind-blown, 
Unswept  upon  the  courtyard  stone. 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXX 

From  Sir  John  Davies'  '  Poetry  of  the  Chinese.' 
This,  and  the  lyric  following,  are  surely  snatches  of  some 
Chinese  'Rubaiyat.'  , 

The  world  is  weary,  hasting  on  its  road  ; 

Is  it  worth  while  to  add  its  cares  to  thine  ? 
Seek  for  some  grassy  place  to  pour  the  wine, 

And  find  an  idle  hour  to  sing  an  ode. 


84 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXXI 

From  Sir  John  Davies'  'Poetry  of  the  Chinese.' 

You  \e  two  score,  three  score  years  before  you  yet, 
And  at  the  end  of  them  your  day  is  done. 

A  thousand  plans  you  have  before  you  set : 
Is  it  worth  while  to  weary  over  one  ? 

Now,  when  the  gods  have  made  an  idle  day, 
Take  it,  and  let  the  idle  hours  go  by ; 

And  when  the  gods  three  cups  before  you  lay, 
Lift  them,  and  drain  them  dry. 


85 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXXII 

From  Sir  John  Davies'  '  Poetry  of  the  Chinese. 
*  Mulier  recte  olet  ubi  nihil  olet.' 

Blue  iris  sweetest  smells, 
Upon  its  stem  unbroken. 

A  woman  highest  sells, 

With  her  fair  name  unspoken. 


36 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXXIII 

Written  in  the  seventh  century  before  Christ. 

On  the  moor  is  the  creeping  grass, 

Parched,  thirsting  for  the  dew, 
And  over  it  the  swallows  dip  and  pass, 

The  live-long  summer  through. 
I  came  at  sunset,  fevered  with  the  heat, 

Seeking  I  knew  not  what  with  listless  feet. 

On  the  moor  is  the  creeping  grass, 

Deep-drenched  with  the  dew, 
And  over  it  the  swallows  dip  and  pass, 

The  live-long  summer  through. 
You  came  at  sunrise,  ere  the  dew  was  dried, 

And  I  am  satisfied. 


37 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


xxxiv 

Written  under  the  Tang  dynasty. 

The  moon  is  shining  on  this  borderland, 
Just  as  it  will  be  shining  on  Lung-t'ow. 

The  sea  is  very  quiet  on  the  sand ; 

I  wonder  what  the  folk  are  doing  now. 

The  wild  geese  settle  with  the  same  old  cry, 
The  moonlight  sleeps  upon  the  threshold  stone. 

The  millet  in  the  field  is  shoulder  high, 

And  my  young  wife  goes  up  the  path  alone. 


38 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


xxxv 

A  gathering  of  the  clans  in  the  ninth  century  before 
Christ. 

How  goes  the  night  ? 

Midnight  has  still  to  come. 

Down  in  the  court  the  torch  is  blazing  bright ; 

I  hear  far  off  the  throbbing  of  the  drum. 

How  goes  the  night  ? 

The  night  is  not  yet  gone. 

I  hear  the  trumpets  blowing  on  the  height ; 

The  torch  is  paling  in  the  coming  dawn. 

How  goes  the  night  ? 

The  night  is  past  and  done. 

The  torch  is  smoking  in  the  morning  light, 

The  dragon  banner  floating  in  the  sun. 


39 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


XXXVI 

Written  b.c.  1121. 

White  clouds  are  in  the  sky. 
Great  shoulders  of  the  hills 
Between  us  two  must  lie. 
The  road  is  rough  and  far. 
Deep  fords  between  us  are. 
I  pray  you  not  to  die. 


40 


LYRICS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


'  Their  memory  is  forgotten.  Also  their 
love,  and  their  hatred,  and  their  envy,  is 
now  perished.'1 


41 


Printed  in  Great  Britain  by 

T.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 

at  the  University  Press,  Edinburgh 


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